


Whatever Flag They Offer

by Rens_Knight



Series: Silent Running: A Warhammer 40K Universe [1]
Category: Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Adeptus Mechanicus (Warhammer 40.000), Christian Character, Gen, Imperium of Man (Warhammer 40.000), Moral Dilemmas, Original World (Warhammer 40.000), Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery & Symbolism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 14:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28511655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rens_Knight/pseuds/Rens_Knight
Summary: When the Imperium of Man invades the 2nd Millennium-tech-level world of Malekandre, Treza Epifano, follower of an ancient faith long since extinguished on Terra, is forced to make a survival decision she fears may be unforgivable.
Series: Silent Running: A Warhammer 40K Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088558
Comments: 8
Kudos: 5





	Whatever Flag They Offer

**Author's Note:**

> Yep. I did it. I wrote a Warhammer 40K fanfic.
> 
> My primary fandom is still Star Wars, so I make no promises as to when any additional stories in this universe will be written, but since this story still helped me with my NaNoWriMo word count for this year, I decided to go ahead and post it.
> 
> If you're here for a massive battle of chainswords, bolters, lasguns, and choppas, however, this may not be your story. This story is told instead from the point of view of a civilian on a world of my creation called Malekandre, and shows what it might be like to live on a world much like ours that has just surrendered to the Imperium of Man rather than be destroyed. It should be noted my POV character here has a spotty knowledge of Imperial terminology so some things are wrong and I know it. Malekandre has been separated from the rest of humanity since the onset of the Age of Strife, hence the lack of knowledge and the loss of mutual intelligibility between Malekandre's dominant language, and High or Low Gothic.
> 
> One other point...I know 40K has a TON of lore, and while I have tried to incorporate it I also know that the extreme size of the Imperium and the Adeptus Mechanicus means that there is some leeway as to how things might be handled on a particular world depending on the Rogue Trader, Explorator fleet, other local forces, or even a particular Magos' approach to things. (yeahsopleasecutmealittleslack considering I am not a hardcore WH40K hobbyist.)
> 
> Hopefully someone will enjoy it nonetheless.

_"Swear allegiance to the flag_

_Whatever flag they offer_

_Never hint at what you really feel..."_

"Silent Running," Mike and the Mechanics

  
  


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“ _By the order of the Holy Ecclesiarchy and the will of our undying Emperor's eternal wisdom, you are to bow down before the image of the God-Emperor of Mankind and pledge your undying loyalty to the service of his Imperium!_ ”

One by one, Treza Epifano and all of the other students of the University of Genova faced their choice in a perverse sort of graduation ceremony: genuflect, or die. Schaeff...he was surely already gone, whether drained to death from his psychic feat, or at the hands of someone very much like the skull-adorned, armored religious officials before her now. And so it would soon go with the rest of the city of Genova, and the outlying towns like Austa.

Treza had done what Schaeff had asked of her. She thrown all her effort into researching this horrid new order the instant their conquest of Malekandre officially became known. She could _never_ perform their rituals; that much she'd known from her first glance at a translated version of their scriptures.

But...

Schaeff would go willingly to the death before betraying all that he...that _they_...had stood for. For her...that could not be. For there was one last thing Schaeff had asked of her: to live. If no one lived, then all truly _was_ lost. This was her burden. She prayed that by the time she reached the stage to hear her own name called, she might somehow find the strength to take it up.

She studied the onstage figures from her seat several rows back from where they stood. There stood the Head of University, Mila Mordino, hands tremoring as she scrolled through the list of names as she read them out one by one under the watchful gaze of the very much human _aliens_ flanking her on both sides as well as behind. Treza almost wondered for a moment if Professor Mordino's legs were shackled somewhere out of sight, beneath her official robes, physically anchoring her into this dreadful nightmare.

_\--CRACK_.

Another shot echoed painfully off the walls of the auditorium. Treza winced. They were growing fewer and further between now that they'd worked their way through the first few letters of the alphabet.

_Damiani, Elia Antonina_ lay in a crumpled heap upon the stage, blood pooling beneath her head.

Professor Mordino stared off at some imaginary point on the far wall, her features a frozen mask.

Treza forced herself to return her attention to the stage before the Imperial soldiers standing in the aisles on either side noticed too much of a reaction. There had been a few other shots aimed into the audience, too.

The other figures on the stage, surrounding Professor Mordino--they made her simple, black ceremonial robe look like a burlap sack. _Ostentatious_ didn't even _begin_ to cover what Treza took to be the two clergy of the Imperial Ecclesiarchy standing in the central position onstage. The male wore ornate white robes trimmed in scarlet and gold, far more elaborate than anything she had ever seen Schaeff or any minister in Austa wear...or even in the city of Genova.

The robes weren't the half of it though. Were those written _scrolls_ adorning the clergy, serving the woman as a tabard, and attached to the male by what looked like ancient wax seals? The female--the only one who seemed to speak the local language, as far as Treza could tell--wore bright crimson robes trimmed in gold...and a belt of skulls.

Not _actual_ human skulls--at least, the ones on her belt didn't look real. The one mounted on her staff, though, above a giant, open book (how in the _blazes_ did the book actually stay open to the intended page, anyway?)...was _that_ one real? Had it once belonged to someone like _Damiani, Elia Antonina_ , who refused to bow before the other priest, the one whose immense staff was topped with the gilded icon of a glowering, armored man with a wreath of leaves around his head?

Treza shivered.

A few Imperial soldiers guarded the clergy--but it was the male priest himself who was carrying out the executions. No...the soldiers were the ones who kept _their_ weapons trained on the line of students as they ascended and descended the stage. If they survived.

They _also_ kept their weapons squarely aimed at several of the University's janitorial staff, who had been conscripted into cleaning up the gruesome messes left behind by those who didn't. The instant they scrambled off the stage, another name rang out.

_Derege, Casimiro Sesto._

No gunshot this time, at least.

The soldiers flanking Treza's own row barked out a foreign command and gestured for the next group of students-- _her_ group--to rise. As if the gesture hadn't been universal enough to understand, the _clack-clack_ of their guns being readied for action made the point crystal clear.

Treza rose, just barely managing to maintain her place at the eye and still keep her focus on the stage. For there was one more figure up there...one whose origin she suspected, but had to be _certain_ of if...

She swallowed. Hard.

_Durante, Terenzio Raffaelo._

There. An enormous, hooded figure standing stock-still just off to the side of the clergy and their guards, belonging to their retinue yet not entirely belonging just the same. He...she assumed it was a 'he,' based on his height and what she could make of his build...was heavily armored from head to toe. Steel pauldrons sat upon his shoulders, over a red robe trimmed in white. And beneath the hood...two glowing green lenses stared out across the crowd, the rest of whatever face existed beneath his armor... _if any_...covered by what looked to be some sort of breathing and life support apparatus. He bore no visible weapons, but to do so almost seemed like overkill, for he himself _was_ a weapon, from the looks of it.

He did not participate in the rituals--never moving, or even speaking...just there, observing. As she got closer, she couldn't tell if he was even _breathing_ , or if some other process sustained him.

She knew for certain what he was now--she'd found enough images in her research to get the idea. This was a Tech-priest. Adeptus Mechanicus.

Her heart hammered fiercely against her ribs. Only a few people left between her and the stage. She wondered for just an instant if the Imperium's soldiers could hear it from where they stood.

_Eftemie, Marika Alexandra._

The next thing she knew, she had reached the steps. A soldier blocked the way, rifle pointed down but his finger clearly on the trigger ready to swing it into her face if she made any unexpected moves.

Professor Mordino's voice rang out from the speaker right next to her, so loudly it beat out its own rhythm on her trembling body.

"EPIFANO, TREZA ANTONELLA."

The Imperial soldier stepped aside, silently pointing up towards the clergy as if she could possibly have any confusion by now as to where to go.

She forced her feet by an act of will to cross the stage and stop at a white, painted mark on the floor.

The female clergywoman stared her down with uncompromising brown-black eyes. She issued the same command she had to all of the university students, unnaturally loud as some sort of amplifier-collar broadcast her voice for all to hear.

“By the order of the Holy Ecclesiarchy and the will of our undying Emperor's eternal wisdom, you are to bow down before the image of the God-Emperor of Mankind and pledge your undying loyalty to the service of his Imperium!”

This was it. The conqueror's command she could not, in her deepest conscience, possibly obey.

Yet she must not fall--in her life, even if that was _all_ she had left to her--the memory of the old world must remain.

Another way...she felt sure there was another way but to actually face her--and to face _him_...

_Please...forgive me, my Lord of All, for what I am about to do._

She turned her head past the clerics, caught instead--or at least _thought_ she had--the unblinking gaze of the armored being standing off to their right.

She had been rehearsing these words all night, all day now. She still did not know if there existed any ritual for this, or what the response would be...but it was all she had. She forced herself to speak these words not as a tremulous whisper, but something resembling a confident pronouncement, for they would decide her fate.

"I declare my allegiance to the Adeptus Mechanicus and to the Omnissiah whom they serve!"

The male cleric started to raise his weapon. Before he could even get it a centimeter of the way there, the Tech-priest barked a sharp command in the invaders' language. Everyone froze at the sound of his unnatural voice.

Treza kept her gaze focused on the Tech-priest, though the glow of his artificial eyes was starting to pain her own very organic ones. Out the corner of her eye, where her field of vision wasn't completely washed out by the fierce green light, she could almost swear she saw the clerics glaring daggers at the Tech-priest.

For his part, he gave no indication whether he noticed, or cared. Those awful, radiant lenses bore down upon her, virtually daring her to blink. She continued to resist the urge. At last the Tech-priest declared, in clear Malekandrenin without even a hint of the female cleric's otherworld accent: "I receive your submission for entry into the Cult Mechanicus."

The Tech-priest issued another rapid command in the Imperial speech. The soldiers on the far side of the stage beckoned her.

To shoot her offstage once they'd made it out of the Tech-priest's sight? Maybe, Treza thought to herself as she forced her rubbery legs to descend the stairs. Those clerics of the Ecclesiarchy hadn't exactly looked thrilled with the Tech-priest's intervention.

Then again, if what she'd managed to learn about the basic setup of the invading Imperium was right, that Tech-priest wasn't likely to take defiance of his command lightly either. Hopefully, _if_ she was reading this whole thing right, he'd meant what he said. She'd learned a bit of what the Mechanicus was capable of--she knew this could backfire drastically in a number of horrific ways if the Ecclesiarchy still decided to pull something behind the Tech-priest's back, or if the Tech-priest himself had something of a grimmer nature in mind than she.

She could only pray--silently--as the Imperial soldiers led her by gestures towards some sort of storage room behind the stage to wait, that she'd made the right choice.

  
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End file.
